


Loaded

by lady_krysis (saekhwa)



Category: The Losers (2010)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Community: ante_up_losers, Gift Fic, Gunplay, Guns, Kinks, M/M, Masturbation, Porn, Rare Pairing, Sexual Content, fun sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-20
Updated: 2011-01-20
Packaged: 2017-10-14 22:12:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/154020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saekhwa/pseuds/lady_krysis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clay catches Jensen in his boxers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Loaded

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lily_gish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lily_gish/gifts).
  * Translation into Русский available: [На взводе](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3592731) by [Heidel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heidel/pseuds/Heidel)



> This fic takes place before the events of the movie. Really, it's just a PWP.

Jensen freezes, gasping out a, "Jesu—" before he's shoved against the wall, face first, with the barrel of a gun pressed to the top of his spine. Okay, he thinks. Okay and _fuck_. He really should've been prepared for this.

"Don't. Move." If the voice hadn't given it away, Jensen would have recognized the broad fingers running down his sides, the rough catch of calluses against his skin as Clay's fingers dip lower, over his stomach, and hook into his boxers, snapping the band. It doesn't hurt — it's just a little sting — but Jensen still flinches. "Hacking in your boxers again?"

"Don't knock 'em. _These_ "—Which happen to be old school Mario boxers—"are classics." Jensen tries to turn his head, get a look at Clay, see how this is gonna shake out, feel the gun press harder against his spine. "And it helps me—" Clay shoves his head back into place, cheek against the wall, and the last word, "think," ends in a breathless rush.

"You need a better lock on the door."

"Yeah, well maybe you can get Pooch out here to help with that," Jensen says, instead of what he really wants to say, which is maybe if Clay stops breaking the lock and knock— But neither one of them wants that. Leastways not Jensen, who's fast approaching ridiculously hard and is way past turned on when Clay drags the gun down the dip in Jensen's spine. Not moving? Becoming really fucking hard. Jensen's sort of impatient that way.

Then Clay pushes the gun under his boxers, sliding it between his ass cheeks, and Jensen jerks, slapping his palm against the wall. _That_ — Damn. More than fucking hot, it's a pretty effective way of getting Jensen naked, getting Jensen all the way to hard and breathing faster, especially when Clay curls his hand — gun and all — around Jensen's hip and presses full body against him, Clay's groin snug against Jensen's ass.

"Maybe I'll get him out here to help with this." The slow grind of Clay's hips makes Jensen's breath hitch, makes him shut his eyes and just _think_ about that for a while as his boxers slip lower down his thighs.

"You're a bastard," Jensen laughs, pushing his ass back, aware of the gun — at a glance, Kimber Custom TLE II, Clay's favorite. Jensen's, too, if Clay keeps digging it into his hip like that, the imprint of the rivets and grooves about to show stark on Jensen's skin.

"And you"—Clay thrusts, slamming Jensen's hips against the wall—"can't follow simple orders."

"You want a sir, yes, sir, too?" Jensen asks, still laughing and wiggling his hips until his boxers pool around his ankles. He rocks his hips back again to feel the gun, Clay's fingers, and the prominent bulge hiding behind Clay's slacks. "Or a sir, please, sir?"

Jensen doesn't have to turn around to know that Clay's laughing, too. He can hear it in Clay's voice, part amused, part surrender, because why hold back? "Sir, please, sir will work."

Jensen grins, using his arm to set his glasses back into place before glancing over his shoulder. "Then sir, please, sir, can I suck your cock?"

Clay's laugh is more notable, comes out breathless and soft as he steps back. Jensen turns around and can't help but lick his lips at the sound of the zipper, folding to his knees and setting his glasses off to the side while Clay pushes down his pants. Jensen's attention is caught between the Kimber and Clay's cock, both hard, both really difficult not to notice, both making Jensen's mouth dry and his cock twitch. So of course Clay chooses for him, pressing the barrel of the Kimber to Jensen's temple — Jesus, even if the safety is _on_ , he can't be sure — and rubbing his cock against Jensen's lips until he opens wide and takes it. Not that Jensen fights it, and Clay isn't a jerk about it; he doesn't make Jensen struggle for it.

Jensen moves his mouth slowly over Clay's cock, takes it in inches, teasing the head with playful flicks of tongue and soft sucks before he slides lower, working the shaft, letting it sit heavy and thick on his tongue. He gives a little moan as he darts a look up at Clay's face, watching the way Clay swallows, the way he shuts his eyes and then opens them to slits, staring down at Jensen and pressing the gun more firmly to his temple. It makes Jensen's eyes flutter shut, makes him moan and move his tongue restlessly against Clay's cock. He takes Clay deeper into his mouth, shifting so he can feel the gun, the firm, steady press of it against his scalp before Clay adjusts, fitting it against his temple again. It's stupid and crazy but no less stupid and crazy than the ops they take on every day. Even without a condom, this is safer. Even with a loaded gun and one flick of the safety away from really fucking dangerous.

With another wet, shameless moan, Jensen curls a hand around his own cock, squeezing it as he sucks on Clay's. The rhythm is awkward at first, his attention split between making Clay lose his cool, the gun — can't ever forget that — and the rough stroke of his fist on his dick. For a second, all he can think about is the gun and that niggling spike of fear. Is the safety on — of course it is 'cause Clay doesn't play around with shit like that but — or is it off? Then the gun is slotting into the groove between Jensen's neck and shoulder, resting heavy and cool and snug against his pulse, and he flicks a look up at Clay, who's moving his hips in these shallow little thrusts. Jensen tightens his mouth around Clay's cock, thumbs the head of his own, and works them together. He has to clench his fist around the base of his shaft, squeeze down before he loses it, and sucks Clay to giving up a sound between a growl and a groan, the gun digging into Jensen's shoulder — God, and he has to wonder _again_. But then he's coming, too, nearly choking on Clay's come when he sucks in a breath, the Kimber's barrel jammed just behind his ear.

Jensen slides off Clay's cock and rests his forehead against Clay's thigh, croaking out a, "Jesus," before he's shuddering and coughing.

"Hey." Clay drops to his knees, one hand stroking Jensen's arm, the other cupping his cheek, the gun lost somewhere in between. "You good?"

Jensen nods, rubbing his throat, jaw aching, his whole body still shivery from orgasm. "Yeah." He grimaces, turns his head to cough again, and nods. "Yeah, I'm good." Then he grins, feeling for his glasses on the floor, waits until he has them on before asking, "So." The right lens is smudged, but Jensen doesn't need clean glasses to see this. "Was the safety on or off?"

Clay laughs, shoulders shaking with it as he squeezes Jensen's shoulder and stands. "Come on. Let's get you cleaned up."

"Oh come _on_. A guy's got a right to know."

"Below your pay grade, soldier."

And, because Clay occasionally takes an insidious pleasure in being a bastard, that's all the answer Jensen gets.


End file.
